for?"

"Oh, but he don't know what's in it, that's just the slick
part of it," and Sinclair began to snigger to himself at
the thought of it. "You see, this Carlo Carlotti the
Condottiere..."

"Stop right there," I said. "What's a Condottiere?"

"It's a sort of brigand. He, you understand, was in league
with this Fra Fraliccolo..."

A suspicion flashed across my mind. "Look here," I said
firmly, "if the scene of this story is laid in the
Highlands, I refuse to listen to it. Call it off."

"No, no," Sinclair answered quickly, "that's all right.
It's laid in Italy...time of Pius the something. He
comes in--say, but he's great! so darned crafty. It's
him, you know, that persuades this Franciscan..."

"Pause," I said, "what Franciscan?"

"Fra Fraliccolo, of course," Sinclair said snappishly.
"You see, Pio tries to..."

"Whoa!" I said, "who is Pio?"

"Oh, hang it all, Pio is Italian, it's short for Pius.
He tries to get Fra Fraliccolo and Carlo Carlotti the